


Nothing Can Take Us Back to the Start

by Starspot



Series: Every Day You Keep Me Sane [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Lance (Voltron) Being an Idiot, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Permanent Injury, Pre-Relationship, Prosthetics, Space family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 08:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starspot/pseuds/Starspot
Summary: He wants to ask him to come back to Earth. He wants to take Keith with him. But Keith is illuminated by a background of stars and space, and Lance knows he is already home. He cannot take Keith from the first real home he's ever had, and Keith cannot take Lance from his.





	Nothing Can Take Us Back to the Start

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii I'm back again with this little Canon Divergence fic! I felt like I still had more to say about it. I may write a sequel to Scattered as well, but I need time to map it out before I commit. In the meantime, have the three months after the Galra are defeated, before Lance returns to Earth to wallow in angst for 5,000 years! Thanks so much for your feedback on the original fic; I was pleasantly overwhelmed by it. 
> 
> You do not have to read Scattered before you read this; sequentially speaking, this fic actually takes place before the other. Please just have fun! 
> 
> Title taken from the song "Move Slow" by The Tech Thieves (you can find this song on spotify)

Lance doesn’t remember too much in the moments after killing Lotor. 

He remembers fighting through the pain to crawl past the Galran prince’s body, to the controls. He thinks another Galra commander tries to stop him, but once they see their leader dead, they turn back around and walk out of the control room. He remembers finding the schematics of the ship, fighting extreme dizziness to unlock the cells. 

He thinks he blacks out, and comes back to Pidge yelling for him to hold on, to stay with her, to … to …

He makes a joke or two, probably. To ease the tension. He knows what happened. He’s badly hurt, but more importantly, he’s taken out their last obstacle. Keith trusted him with his knife, and he followed through. That’s good, right? 

There’s a moment of excruciating pain as Pidge makes a tourniquet out of Lotor’s dumbass cloak, yanking the ends over the remains of Lance’s right leg. He yells, probably. She pushes him to keep talking. She’s calling for the rest of the team, but they’re held up. They’re fighting the last of the ship’s opposition. Lance either has to wait for them to finish, or Pidge has to move him.

He thinks Pidge drags him. They both know he won’t last if they wait for the rest of the paladins. He’s already lost too much blood. She hoists him up by the armpits, Lance makes another groggy, sarcastic joke about being dragged through the mud already. Then she’s dragging him backwards through the halls to the escape pods. 

Their last ditch plan had … kind of worked. They got rid of Lotor, sure, and the whole idea was to get themselves captured. Lotor thought their capture had been too easy, so they were all but resigned to the loss. He took Lance first. Lance figured Lotor wanted Allura’s attention all to himself, and Lance’s casual flirting with the princess was something to be taken care of. That, or he really saw him as the weakest of the paladins. 

Lance may have believed that in the past, but he had his strengths. He put them to use when it really mattered.

Lance never saw the blade coming at him, but Lotor sure didn’t either. And Lance was the lucky fucker still alive. 

He doesn’t remember more than seconds at a time after Pidge starts moving him. She’s trying to be gentle, but his lower body is still dragging on the ground, and it hurts _hurts hurts_\--

They make it to Keith before he really passes out, because he can definitely recall the red paladin’s horrified face as Pidge screams for help. He thinks the other boy lifting him into his arms is what makes him let go. Maybe he just knows he’s safe. 

The next thing he knows, he’s falling out of a healing pod. Literally, falling, because he tries to step forward to catch himself but there’s nothing there and he immediately loses his balance. He would have hit the floor if not for Shiro’s quick reflexes, grabbing him before he faceplants and earns himself another go in the pod. Lance grasps at Shiro’s prosthetic until he manages to orient himself. 

“Easy, easy,” Shiro tells him, letting him sink the rest of the way to the floor. Lance chances a look down and hooooo boy, that’s a sight. His right leg is gone from just above the knee. He didn’t dream Lotor hacking it off; that actually happened. 

He should feel something. Like upset, probably, or horrified. Which, yeah, he kind of is, because _hello_, he’s down a leg. But part of him kind of knew it was only a matter of time before one of them got majorly fucked up, and considering his track record, it only made sense that he’d get the brunt of it. 

He’s sure the others are expecting him to break down or something, but all he says is, “We lose much more of everyone and we could make a whole ass person.” 

Pidge snorts. She’s the least likely to be affronted by his lackluster response to the whole missing limb issue. “I wanna see you lose your whole ass.” 

“There’s not a lot there,” Keith drawls, but Lance can tell that the red paladin is definitely pretty shook up. There’s no actual biting tone of sarcasm. He’s saying it just to keep them all calm, probably. 

Lance’s body chooses that moment to rebel and he shivers, letting go of Shiro to shove his hands under his armpits. They clearly put him into the pod at a rush; although Lotor’s cloak is no longer tied to the remains of his leg, he’s still wearing the black undersuit of his paladin armor. It’s meant for extreme temperatures but he’s not sure the Alteans had extended stays in the cryopod in mind when they designed them. “How long …” he starts, finally looking up to meet the gazes of his team. 

Hunk’s eyes are carefully on his face, refusing to go any lower. Pidge is looking away entirely, frowning. Keith is staring right at the offending lack of limb, like he’s going to glare it back into existence. 

“Two quintants, thereabout,” Coran replies, kneeling down next to Shiro. “Not long, considering. Pidge’s quick thinking kept you from losing a lethal amount of blood, and the … erm, damage done was quite clean. Up we go, let’s get you off the floor and into something warm before we take a look.” 

Lance finds it surprisingly hard to get his leg under him when he doesn’t have the second for support. He winds up clinging to Shiro and Coran for dear life until he’s fully upright, wobbling precariously on one foot. Everything is so off-kilter. He keeps moving what’s left of his right leg like just the thought of it is going to help him out. “Uhhh …” he manages after a minute, “I don’t know if I can …” 

“Lean on me,” Shiro offers, sliding his arm around Lance’s waist. In another lifetime, he might even be blushing from all the attention, but fuck if walking isn’t the hardest exercise of his life right now. “All your weight. There, just hop. Like a crutch.” 

They make it to a small bed on the other side of the med bay through sheer force of will. Lance is exhausted, like he always is after a stay in the pod, and doesn’t have nearly enough abdominal strength to help with the hopping. He really hopes he doesn’t have to play bunny rabbit all the way back to his room. Or, well …

Getting around is going to be a little tough for the time being in general. Maybe he can just camp out in the lounge. 

Someone brought his pajamas with them, so he quickly changes while the team looks in the other direction. Well, he’s pretty sure Keith takes a peek, but Lance isn’t sure if he wants to see dick or the leg. He doesn’t actually mind either way (he’s peeked at Keith before, so sue him). He himself doesn’t chance a look down, just operates by feeling until the leg is covered again. He knows it’s gone, he knows it’s not going to magically grow back, but something about it still makes his heart pound. 

“What happened?” Allura asks once he’s done, taking a seat on the floor near the bed. The others follow suit, except Hunk, who takes a seat on his left and offers up a hand. Lance smiles gratefully and takes it. Hunk is a quiznakking star for all the shit he holds Lance up through. He doesn’t know how he ever could have made it this long without him. “Pidge said when she found you, it was just … you, like this, and Lotor dead. You weren’t in any state to explain at the time.” 

Lance doesn’t want to go into the details. He doesn’t think he can right now. He hasn’t even begun to break down what exactly happened: what he had to do to keep his own life. “Um. Oh. Hey Mullet, you get your knife back? I don’t remember if I still had it or Pidge got it or what.”

“Got it right here,” Keith says, waving the luxite blade in his hand. There’s not a speck of blood to be found on it, to Lance’s relief. “Had to pry it out of your fingers. You were still holding it the entire time.” 

“Oh. Good.” Lance falls quiet for a moment, still trying to piece together everything that happened. It’s just broken fragments mostly, even leading up to what happened with Lotor. Aside from the leg, he doesn’t remember being injured further, so it probably wasn’t too traumatic. Considering. 

The others don’t push him to say anything. He bites at his lower lip, wants to go to sleep and just forget. But it’s not fair to the others.

“So like, we were just talking I think? I dunno, it’s all really hazy.” He shrugs, tightening his grip on Hunk’s hand. “Um, he didn’t really have any openings but he didn’t know I cut through the cuffs. I must’ve pissed him off because he took a big swing at me with his sword. If I hadn’t moved he might’ve …” He looks down at his leg and drags in a sharp breath. “It would have been worse. Anyway, he got the leg, I got him, and then I opened the cells and Pidge found me.” Lucky. He’s lucky. If he’d been any less experienced, or hadn’t thought to get the others out …

“I don’t ever want to find you like that again,” Pidge whispers, and Lance realizes that the whole thing must have been traumatic for her too. She had to get him out of there. She had to stop the bleeding, she had to drag one of her best friends across a ship to get them help. All on her own. 

Lance is going to give her the biggest fucking hug as soon as he gets the chance. For now, he just smiles at her and says, very earnestly, “Me either. Thank you, Pidge.” 

Allura is not satisfied by his answer, apparently. “What were you talking about? Do you remember any of that? Maybe why he picked you first?”

Lance sighs. “I really don’t, ‘Lura. I don’t remember a lot.”

“But--”

“That’s enough. The details aren’t the priority right now.” Shiro cuts her off before Lance has to figure out how to stop her first. He looks back at Lance gently. “More importantly, do you feel okay? It’s going to ache, I imagine, but are you uncomfortable? Do you feel like anything didn’t heal properly?”

Lance has been trying really, really hard not to think about that kind of stuff. Now that he’s warming up, though, he can tell he’s just … not all there. There’s no pressure beneath his thigh. It feels … floaty. And Shiro is right; the spot where it’s gone is sore. It probably always will be. Chronic pain, his new best friend. 

He can’t bring himself to touch it. Touching it makes it more real. “I’m okay,” he says, because he is. Just okay. Not fantastic. But he’s alive, and he took down Lotor. So that’s an accomplishment. 

“Let me take a look, lad,” Coran speaks up, kneeling down in front of him. 

“No--” Lance startles immediately, sliding back on the cot. The movement jarrs his leg a little too much and he makes a strangled noise of pain, curling over himself. He doesn’t want anyone else to see it. Hell, he doesn’t want to see it himself, but especially the others. They’re all just watching him, waiting for him to break down or something. They don’t need to see the whole extent of the injury. 

Coran seems to pick up what he’s putting down almost immediately, because the Altean turns to look at the others. “Go on then, team, why don’t you all make him some space in the lounge to rest? Better to be there than alone in his room.” 

Lance refuses to let go of Hunk’s hand, because he needs some support, and he knows Hunk is too squeamish to actually look. The other boy gets the hint, because he doesn’t get up like the others. Keith … also doesn’t seem to want to leave, for some reason. Shiro nudges him none too gently but he goes with his piercing eyes still locked on Lance until the moment he can’t watch anymore. 

That done, Coran turns back to Lance with a small smile, trying to ease the tension. Lance gingerly shifts back to the edge of the cot. He doesn’t want to do this--he really just wants to sleep--but he’s got to face it eventually so he might as well just rip the metaphorical bandaid off. Granted, it’s a big ass bandaid.

“You know what this means?” Hunk asks, finally speaking for the first time. Lance has a feeling it’s because he needs a distraction from Coran rolling up the empty pajama leg. “We did it, man. Once we take out the rest of the stray Galra forces, we’re done.” Hunk smiles. “We can go home.” 

On the one hand that’s good. Lance wants to go home so, so bad. It’s all he’s really wanted since they got themselves into this mess. He misses his mother, and his siblings, and Cuba … fuck, he even kind of misses Iverson, if it means seeing another human face. And maybe before yesterday he wouldn’t have any second thoughts at all. 

But he’s kind of down half a fucking leg and he has no idea how he’s going to explain this. He doesn’t want to. He’s so scared they’re going to treat him like some broken doll if he comes back all beat up. Lance looks down with a frown. Someone replaced Lotor’s cloak with some hastily wrapped bandages before putting him into a pod; there’s blood all over them, still bright red thanks to the quick cryo process. 

He draws in a sharp breath. “I can’t go home like this, Hunk.” 

Hunk squeezes his hand. Lightly, just enough pressure to be reassuring. Lance meets his honey eyes and sees the encouragement there. “Our families think we’re dead, you know? And I think showing up like you are is better than not showing up at all. But man … you know Pidge is totally obsessed with robotics, right? She’s looked at Shiro’s arm more than enough times to know how to build a prosthetic herself. If me and Coran pitch in …”

“It would be easy to fit you with a prosthetic, Lance,” Coran agrees. “We might be getting ahead of ourselves a little, but there’s not too much nerve damage because of the clean cut. You’d need recovery time and we’d have to be sure Pidge’s designs work, but …” 

“But I could walk fine,” Lance finishes. He looks down as the bandages come off. There’s … not much to look at. The healing pod cleaned up the damage neatly, without any gruesome scars. Just pulled, pale skin that contrasts with the dark bronze of his thigh. Lance’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch, but the thought of doing so also has his stomach in knots. Seeing it makes it all the more real. That’s it. That’s all that’s left of it. Cryo can’t rebuild a limb, so this is him. Permanently. 

He wants to vomit at the sight but he swallows it back, sucks in a few deep breaths. 

He doesn’t think he can do it, without a leg. Lance hates being dependent on others. He’s always wanted to prove himself capable of anything and everything, ever since he was a kid. That urge only got stronger when they first formed Voltron. He was a Paladin. One of only five in the universe. One of only five beings with the power to protect. He can’t think of himself living a lifetime of having someone help with every basic fucking need. 

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees breathlessly, tearing his eyes away. “Pidge will have a blast with it, anyway. And then we can go home.” 

He sits quietly while Coran looks at the … whatever is left. The pod might have healed it, covered the muscle and the bone and stopped the bleeding, but it _aches_ and throbs like a migraine for his thigh. He finds himself flinching away more than once against the Altean’s wandering hands. It hurts more when he wipes it down, cleaning the leftover blood and gore they didn’t have time to touch before cramming him into a pod. 

He’s breathing heavy and shaky by the time Hunk tries to distract him again; this time he firmly takes Lance’s head and pulls it away to look back at him instead. “What’s the first thing you want to eat when we get home?” he asks. He already knows the answer. They all know the answer for everyone. They talk about it all the time … well, he, Hunk, and Pidge. Shiro and Keith have nothing waiting for them on Earth. Lance doubts they’ll even bother coming back. 

Lance tries to get his breathing under control before he answers, “It’s a tie between garlic knots and Mami’s _ropa vieja_.” 

“But?” Hunk prompts.

Coran is putting something that looks like an Altean compression sock over his leg; the pressure actually helps with the pain a little. Lance squirms on the cot. “But I’ll literally eat anything if it comes from Earth. Won’t be picky.” 

They exchange smiles; Lance feels just the smallest amount better. Hunk has always been able to calm him down even when the situation is a bit difficult to control. Lance wants to know what alien went and replaced the vomity, panicky Hunk he knew back when they first learned to form Voltron. 

“Thanks, man,” he mumbles, and gets a firm pat on the back as a reply. He’s not sure whether Hunk actually managed to take a look. He hopes he didn’t. 

“Alright, lad,” Coran finally announces, rising once more to his feet. There’s an easy, open smile on his face, and Lance knows it’s for his benefit. “The pod did its job well; the wound is as healed as it can be. I have experience treating these types of injuries so I can give you the rundown on how to take care of yourself until we figure out prosthetics, but …” Coran eyeballs him for a minute. “You could use the rest for now. Get some food, get some sleep. Take it easy. You’ve done well, Lance.” 

He doesn’t bother trying to stand. He’s not going to hop down the halls like the damn Pixar lamp; he’d rather just pass out on the cot he’s sitting on. He feels like he’s just going to topple over if he tries to get up anyway, and that’s not just because of the whole one leg down thing. He stares down in frustration. 

Hunk, of course, is all too quick to pick up on what he needs. “Want a lift?” he suggests, phrasing it in a way that doesn’t make Lance want to die of embarrassment or humiliation. God, he does not deserve Hunk. The whole fucking universe isn’t good enough for Hunk. 

He doesn’t pick Lance up like a child, either, or some blushing bride; he simply offers the wide expanse of his back. Lance climbs on as well as a three-limbed koala possibly can and holds tight. He’s truly exhausted now; he’s practically falling asleep then and there. 

He doesn’t remember being put down on the wide cushion of the lounge couch. He briefly recalls the sensation of a pillow being shoved beneath his head and a blanket being laid on top of him, and then he’s totally gone. Tomorrow Lance can worry about all the shit today Lance doesn’t want to. 

He sleeps for a solid fourteen hours. 

***

It’s not easy. Lance never expected it to be--never expected to lose a leg at all, really--but he’s thrown for a loop at just how much everyone relies on four functioning limbs. He figures it’d be a little easier for Shiro, if he didn’t have his prosthetic. Shiro can still get around perfectly fine, he just can’t hold as many things. Lance is having a problem getting around, which means he’s having a problem doing … basically everything. 

The getting waited on hand and foot thing is pretty nice. If he so much as thinks about wanting food, Hunk is already there with a plate. He just finds himself wishing, over and over again, that he could just get up and get it himself. Pidge is working on rigging him up some sort of scooter bike thing, so his muscles don’t atrophy while she works on his prosthetic, but until that happens he’s just stuck in the lounge, punching buttons on his tablet and getting babysat. 

Weirdly, it’s … Keith who spends the most time with him. Well, it’s not weird, exactly. Their supposed rivalry fizzled out faster than it started once they started realizing how well they actually worked as a team. Eventually that blossomed into a strong friendship, but Lance suspected the underlying tension that remained had nothing to do with their rivalry and everything to do with the undeniable attraction for one another. They both knew it was there. They never acted on it, because … well. Team of five, huge breakup, no team dynamic to form Voltron. 

But that’s over now. They’re done. Zarkon is dead, Lotor is dead, Haggar hasn’t been seen in years. The majority of the universe is no longer under Galra control, and while Lance is chilling on the sofa, the rest of the team is working to save the last few planets that need their help. 

It means that whatever he and Keith had felt, whatever feelings they’d held back for the sake of the team … that didn’t really matter anymore. Lance has a feeling that Keith spending more time with him than before directly correlates. He’s not complaining, but he doesn’t say anything, either. 

Because Lance wants to go back to Earth, and Keith does not. So it’s not going to work out. There’s no reason they can’t stay close friends, though, and so Lance indulges. Still, he’s not expecting much. Some chatter, some food, help to the bathroom (which fucking sucks). 

So it throws him for a loop when he jerks awake on the trail of his umpteenth nightmare about the whole losing a limb thing to find Keith _right there_, holding onto him and running his fingers through Lance’s hair. Lance is honestly so confused he doesn’t even begin to think about the nightmare or the excruciating throbbing coming from his invisible right leg. Keith isn’t gentle, he’s not … he’s not this. Especially not to Lance. 

“What--” he croaks, blinking up at violet-hued eyes. He’s still hallucinating; that has to be what this is. Dream Keith is always nicer than real Keith. 

A corner of Keith’s mouth upturns to a nervous smirk. “You’re not exactly easy to wake up,” is all he says. 

Okay, so not hallucinating. 

Lance blinks, still trying to comprehend. Also, the fingers in his hair feel nice. Like something his mother used to do when he was little. He doesn’t want it to stop. He knows it will, in a minute, when Keith decides they’ve gone too far again. 

An ill-timed throb ruins the moment for him. Lance jerks upright, fingers grabbing and squeezing at his right thigh. It aches down to his toes, but he doesn’t _have_ toes anymore, and it’s so frustratingly disconcerting. Coran told him this would probably happen, that the phantom pains were common with injuries like his. Shiro was no help; the Galra removed his arm and gave him a new one before he even knew it was happening. He’s always had an arm. It’s just not the same arm he was born with. 

Lance hates it. He knows it’s not there, can see that it’s not there, but the pain tells him otherwise. It makes him want to move, want to walk, want to find some way to ease the pain just a little. He can’t do anything except swallow pain pills and wait for it to pass. 

“Here,” Keith announces, shoving the Altean equivalent of an ibuprofen pill into his hands. Lance doesn’t wait for water to wash it down with; he just snatches the damn thing and shoves it into his mouth so fast he almost chokes on it. 

He takes several minutes to calm down, to wait until his fingers stop shaking and he stops wanting to squeeze his thigh hard enough to bruise. The pain fades slower, but it’s an afterthought soon enough. Keith is still there, watching him with … wait. Why the quiznak is he looking guilty?

“What do you have to feel bad about?” Lance asks him with a raised eyebrow. He sinks back into the cushions now that the worst of the pain has passed. He’s always so damn exhausted. Nightmares suck. 

Keith has the audacity to look ashamed, like he hadn’t meant to get caught. “This is my fault,” he says. And what the literal fuck. 

“You weren’t even there,” Lance points out dryly. 

“The whole thing was my idea to begin with--” 

“Yeah, and we were on board with it. And it worked.”

“No, it didn’t! You got lucky!”

“Hey--”

“Lotor could have taken any of us and killed us. We got lucky it was you but it should have been me, I should have tried harder to get him to take me, then maybe …”

Lance purses his lips together tightly. “Then what?” he demands, crossing his arms. “Then you could have taken out Lotor without being injured? Do you really think I’m that incapable?” 

“No!” Keith bites his lip and looks away. “Then maybe I would’ve been injured and you’d still be okay.” 

Lance blinks. Blinks again, because if that isn’t the most idiotic thing Keith has ever said then Lance would give up his other leg. “I don’t even know what to say to that, except you’re a fucking dumbass, Kogane,” he finally answers. 

Keith at least manages to look a little affronted.

“No, listen.” Lance shifts, sliding his leg over the side of the couch and scooting forward so he can glare up at Keith a little better. “We all went along with the plan. We all knew the risks. If you hadn’t suggested it, someone else would have. We’ve tried literally everything else, Keith. And we did it, we won. I can see my family again. Don’t spout bullshit to me about how you should have been picked. You and I, and all of the others. We all would give every single limb if it means keeping the others safe. The only thing I lost was a leg. The only thing any of us lost was one leg, and the Galra lost the universe, so I kinda think we came out on the better end.” He pauses, and looks down. It’s not exactly obvious unless he’s really looking, what with the empty pant leg. “Anyway, I bet he has lousy aim. He probably only got the leg because there was more leg than Lance.”

He’s surprised when Keith barks out a wet laugh. Lance narrows his eyes, but there’s no tears on the other’s face. His eyes are suspiciously shiny, but he hasn’t broke. He’s kind of disappointed. “I don’t understand how you’re taking this so well,” he admits, looking down too. Lance doesn’t know why they all like to look down. There’s nothing there. 

Lance shrugs. “I’m pretty sure this is like, a really long stretch of shock. One day I bet I’m gonna wake up and burst into hysterics.” He thinks he’s probably over that bit. Maybe he was just expecting death for so long that just losing a leg is kind of a let down. He expected more. 

Quiznak, war has made him so cynical. Mami’s going to wonder what happened to his shitty sense of humor. 

The phantom pains are gone for now, aided by the ibuprofen making his brain think all is well and Keith’s dumb idealogies. Lance sags back onto the couch, one hand rubbing idly at his thigh. “D’you think Pidge will take me up on the leg blasters?” he asks aloud, not really expecting Keith to actually answer. 

The other boy does anyway, teary eyes replaced with a wry smirk. He takes a seat next to Lance. “You wouldn’t have any way of aiming. You’d just be firing blindly.”

“Eh, yeah, but sometimes firing blindly into a crowd of Galra sentries is so satisfying.” 

“You really think the Garrison would let you walk Earth freely with a weaponized prosthetic?”

Lance hasn’t thought about any of that. Why do they need to let the Garrison know they’re back? Sure, they’re probably listed as deceased in all records remaining of them. Sure, the whole world thinks they died, probably in some dumbass cadet excuse they gave. But Lance thinks not having any obligations to the government sounds pretty nice. He could just … be. But he wouldn’t have any privileges. He wouldn’t appear in any records. And he has plans. 

He wants to get a job, to settle in at home with his family. He wants … well, he wants to date, but he has a feeling no one is quite going to compare to Keith, so he doesn’t know if he’ll ever settle down. Loverboy Lance has definitely mellowed out over the years. The horror. 

Lance wants to feel Earth’s sun on his face, he wants to swim in Earth’s ocean and stand in Earth’s rain and eat all the garlic knots he can get his hands on. Even the shitty ones. He probably needs to actually exist for that to happen. “Who said I was going to let the Garrison find out about the leg?” he tries anyway. 

Keith raises one eyebrow at him. “They strapped Shiro down and tranquilized him when he came back to Earth. You think you’re going to get away without a full examination?” 

“You’re ruining all my hopes and dreams here, Samurai.” 

“My goal in life, obviously.” 

Lance looks away, shoving that tight feeling in his chest away. Sitting right next to someone he can never have is probably one of the hardest things he’s ever done, right up there with stabbing a blade right into the spot where Lotor’s black heart resided. “You’re not coming back, are you?” he asks, ashamed of how _wrecked_ his voice sounds. 

Keith sighs, which is all the answer Lance needs. He’s known this whole time. Since Keith left for a stint with the Blades, if he’s being honest. Keith belongs to the stars. Keith was always meant for the stars. He won’t even try to bring him home. Keith would come, he’s sure. Keith would do anything for him, probably. But neither of them want to begrudge the other of what makes them happy, because that’s the most important thing. 

“I’ll visit,” Keith says, because that’s supposed to make him feel better. It won’t be the same. It won’t ever work like that. Still, Lance nods, and swallows, and lets out his own sigh. 

He says, “I’d like that,” but he’s just saying it to say it. 

His stomach decides that the conversation is complete with a loud, angry growl, and both of them start to look at each other. Lance doesn’t want to make the whole situation any more awkward than it’s already become, so he cracks a smile and ends it. “Guess that’s a sign. I don’t want to eat in here. Help me to the kitchen?” 

“Sure. Uhhh, do you want …” 

“A short knight in shining armor to carry me there? Nah, man, let me hop before the other leg stops working. You already got to carry me back on the Galra ship.” Lance stands upright, the movement more fluid than it was two days ago. He’s starting to get the hang of the change of balance, of needing to shift his weight more than usual to stay comfortably upright. The hopping is another matter entirely but he’ll be damned if he lets Keith carry him anywhere when he’s fully capable of moving himself. 

“Lance.” Keith is scowling at him. Lance smirks in reply. “Lance, we are the _same height_.” 

Lance slings an arm over Keith’s shoulders and leans in comfortably, ignoring how right the other paladin’s arm around his waist feels. He’s not going to think about that any more. Not when he knows nothing’s ever going to happen. “I’m not counting the mullet as height,” he comments idly, because he knows it’ll rile Keith up. 

"It's not even a mullet anymore!"

They bicker all the way to the kitchen, and it’s the best Lance has felt in ages, really.

***

“Stop moving,” Pidge grouses, shoving Lance’s torso back down onto the couch. He’s in her lab, for once, and the change of scenery is nice but all the poking and prodding he’s getting is really starting to wear on him. 

When he and Coran had approached her about building a prosthetic, she’d been elated. They still hadn’t talked about what happened in Lotor’s control room, what Pidge had seen and dealt with. Lance didn’t want to push, but he did want to find a way to take her mind off of it. Asking her to get him walking again seemed like a good enough distraction.

She’s been holed up in her lab ever since, going over blueprints and manuals with Hunk. She and Hunk would build the leg, and Coran would work with them to attach it once it was ready. The process left Lance impatient, but he knows this leg has to last him for a lifetime. He’s not going to have access to these parts on Earth; Altean machinery is all but extinct anywhere except the Castle ship. 

Because not even Coran has ever aided someone with a prosthetic, they’ve opted to stop on Olkari once they’re ready. Their medical technology meant they would be more than adept at getting Lance fully set up. He’s nervous, but he’s ready to stop relying on the others to help him get around. He wants to go home and do everything he’s always been able to do. 

That means he has to suffer through hours of Pidge measuring, poking, checking vitals, the whole work. He has to let her do her thing so they can get the process started.

Lance hates it. He’s so _bored_.

“Okay,” Pidge mumbles, eyes narrowed on the schematic she has laid out in front of her. Lance can’t tell if she’s included leg blasters. If she hasn’t, he’ll draw them in when she’s not looking. “I think it’ll work. It’s not going to be like Shiro’s; that’s way too invasive and I don’t trust any of us doing that to you. We’ll um.” She eyes him and presses her fingers to a spot on his thigh. “Have to amputate further, to about here. If we want it to work, we have to get past the dead nerves towards the bottom of the limb.” 

Lance cringes. The leg’s already gone just above the knee, but the spot Pidge is indicating goes pretty far up. He still wants the prosthetic--thinks he’ll go crazy if he doesn’t get one--but he’s not too excited about losing even more of the leg. “I don’t have to be awake or anything, right?” he asks instead, because he doesn’t want to seem like he’s whining. He’s grateful they’re all doing this for him, really. They could be well on their way back to Earth, to see their families, but Pidge and Hunk are sticking it out here for him. 

Pidge shakes her head, looking back over her diagram. “No, bet it’d hurt like a bitch if you had to be awake through it. But Coran says we can do it all in one go. Amputate, attach the base for the prosthesis. He did say you’re going to be really sore at first, so we can’t attach the actual leg until you’re feeling better.” 

Lance groans, letting his head fall back to hit the table. “This sucks. Why couldn’t he have just snagged a toe or two? Hunk and I could’ve been toe twinsies.” 

“At least when we’re through with you you’ll be balanced. Hunk trips over literal air on a regular basis.” 

Lance shouldn’t complain. He should be grateful they’re doing this for him, but he can’t help thinking that maybe Pidge is just doing this because she feels bad. That Pidge owes him, or something. 

“Pidge,” he says suddenly, looking over at her. He doesn’t want to hold off on talking about this anymore. He knows the both of them would rather just not, but it’s eating him up. “About what happened on the ship, I’m sorry … I didn’t … I mean obviously I didn’t really have any choice in what you saw but I wish I could have done more. I couldn’t even help you with anything, I just had to let you …” He sucks in a heavy breath, lets it out slowly. “Are you okay?” 

She doesn’t answer, for the longest time. She just looks at her schematics, then back to his leg with a frown. Her gaze seems far away, so he knows she’s not still thinking about the prosthetic limb. Lance is beginning to think she’s going to stay quiet the rest of the time too, until she says softly, “I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

He flinches. “I’m sorry--”

“You don’t have to apologize, oh my God. It’s not your fault. I just wish Lotor was still alive so I could kill him myself for what he did to you.” Pidge lowers her papers. Her hands are trembling, and Lance isn’t sure if that’s because of their conversation or from past injuries. Pidge was tortured, two years ago. When they got her back, her hands were beyond recognition. The pod did what it could but sometimes she just … can’t control the nerves. Lance reaches out and takes one, squeezing it. “I can’t stop thinking about seeing you there. Like that. I thought you were going to die. I thought you were going to bleed out on me while I dragged you to the others. I didn’t … I didn’t know what I was going to do if you did. You’re an obnoxious idiot most of the time but you’re my brother in all but blood. To all of us.” She pauses, head tilted. “Well, maybe not Keith. Keith would love to get into your pants.”

_“Pidge.”_

“Just … I’m grateful you’re still here. Don’t ever do that to me again, okay? I know we won and all that shit but still.”

Lance nods seriously, but really, this sort of cheesy honesty has never been their thing. Pidge and Lance roast each other like the universe is dying out and he’s going to make sure things are okay between them. “Sooo does that mean blaster leg is a go? I mean, it’s good protection from the likes of Lotor.”

Pidge scoffs. “You know my dad is never going to let you through to Cuba with a weaponized prosthetic. Even if he probably thinks it’s cool.” 

“Why does everyone just assume I’m going straight to the Garrison? There’s a cozy little island off of Varadero Beach, I mean …” 

“I’m saying no to the blaster, Lance. You’ve got your bayard.” 

Some friends he has, not even loading him up with a badass leg. He scowls. “Hidden compartment? For like, _hiding_ a blaster?”

“I … huh. That’s not a bad idea, actually.” She doesn’t finish the thought, even though they’re both thinking it. Everything with Lotor could have been avoided if they’d just managed to smuggle in more than a luxite blade. A hidden gun would have been much more convenient. “Yes to the leg pocket. Now hold still, I just need a sample of your blood …” 

Lance groans. 

“Sometimes I’m really fucking glad you and your weird ass experiments are on our side, lab rat.” 

***

They build the leg in a month, which Lance is more than grateful for. He’s never missed walking so much. He feels a deep, burning empathy for those back on Earth who lack this sort of technology. He’s never going to stop being grateful for privileges like these. 

He’s kind of disappointed when he comes to post-surgery to find that he does not, in fact, have a whole new leg waiting for him. Pidge had warned him he would need to heal before they attached the leg, but he’s so ready for this whole thing to be over with. He wants to go home so badly. Now that he’s so close to getting what he wants, what he’s struggled through seven years for, the recovery process feels like slow, miserable torture. 

They’ve hacked off an additional two inches of his thigh and attached the port instead: Pidge and Coran and an Olkari nurse who was only too happy to help a Paladin of Voltron. Lance can’t stop staring at it in fascinated horror. Before, what remained of his leg was still all him, still all human. Now, he’s got some weird Alien metal permanently attached to his nerves and it’s … off-putting. He doesn’t know how he’s going to tell his mother about this. He doesn’t know if he can. He’s not coming back whole. 

Sitting in his bed staring at the stump of his right leg is when everything finally really hits him. 

He’s been through war, he’s lost a leg, he’s permanently disabled for lack of a better term. Sure, he’ll have an awesome fake leg that he can walk on, but it’s not … _his_ leg isn’t there anymore. Lance isn’t coming home in one piece. He’s got a permanent reminder of everything he went through to get this far. 

He sits in bed, and clutches at his thigh regardless of the pain it causes, and nearly has a panic attack right there. 

It’s Keith who finds him, a minute later, and immediately wraps his arms around him. The other paladin’s scent is grounding; he lifts his hands and grips him back, holding in the tears until Keith’s soft voice sounds in his ear. 

“It’s okay, Lance. It’s okay to be upset.” 

And Lance hates crying, okay, because he’s always been a bit of a crybaby as a kid. He was teased mercilessly all the way up til he made it into the Garrison. He hasn’t cried in … a long time, even when he’s really wanted to. Even when he missed his family so much he ached down to his bones. He’s a little mad that all it takes to finally break is Keith’s quiet understanding. 

But he fucking bawls into Keith’s jacket. He cries so much he thinks he’s going to dry up into a prune. All the work he’s done to perfect his skin is ruined. Keith just holds him through it, and it’s not out of duty or their stale relationship. He’s just there, because he cares, no matter what. He wants to pack him into his space suitcase and drag him home on Blue. 

When he’s done he feels … lighter. Ever since the mission he’s felt a heavy weight settled in his chest. Not even the knowledge of going home was able to lift it. A good cry was all he needed in the end. Lance breathes, and sits back to wipe at his face. God, there’s snot everywhere too. There’s a very visible wet patch on Keith’s jacket. “Thanks,” he manages hoarsely. 

Keith settles on the side of the bed, frowning. Lance thinks the frown is there so often it’s just going to become his usual resting face. Constant perpetual disappointment. “Do you need anything? Pain meds? Coran said it’s going to feel pretty raw until you get used to it, and you might have some pinching, and--”

“I’m fine,” Lance is quick to interject, shaking his head. It does actually hurt a lot, but it’s whatever. It’s not much worse than the phantom aching in his lower limb. “Sorry, it’s just … it’s a lot. I thought I’d feel more excited, y’know? Badass fake leg and all but …” 

“I imagine it’s not the same as having a real flesh and blood leg. Yeah. I had this conversation with Shiro once, not long after we all left Earth.” 

Lance blinks. He’s never heard about this. Then again, he probably wasn’t meant to, but the floodgates have opened, and now he’s dying to know. “You did?”

“Yeah. He’d lost a whole year’s worth of memories. He didn’t know what happened. He thought he had two arms and two legs, you know? Then he woke up and the Garrison had him tied down, and … his whole arm was gone. And he had no idea how it happened. You’ve got a chance to hide yours, at least. Shiro’s is kind of obvious. It’s always going to be on display.”

That’s true. Lance still doesn’t know if he’ll be able to tell his family about this, when he gets home. But he does have that luxury. They don’t have to know about it. But if Shiro returned to Earth … “What did you tell him, when he told you about it?” 

“That it really didn’t matter.” Keith moves, tentatively like Lance is going to push him away. He should, and he could, but … he thinks it’s okay to indulge, just once. Pretty soon they’re going to be saying their last goodbyes, and he’s never going to get this chance again. He sags into Keith’s side, his head nestled in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. “That even if he didn’t remember, it was over now and done. That missing an arm didn’t make him less of a person.” Keith huffs a laugh. “And then I told him that his arm was badass, because it was.” 

Lance knows losing a leg doesn’t make him less of a person. He knows that, and believes it, but … it’s still nice to hear something of the sort coming from Keith. He doesn’t know what he’s afraid of. Everything, probably. But he has the best support system in the universe, and he’s so, so grateful. 

He wants to ask Keith to come home with him, but he doesn’t, because Earth is not Keith’s home. It never has been. He belongs with the stars, doing the greatest things a being could ever wish for. He wonders if Keith wants to ask him to stay.

He lets out a soft, long breath and shuts his eyes. 

He’ll indulge a little longer before he lets go of this. 

***

Lance thinks he’s stared down at the innards enough times in the last week to put him off of ever wanting a biology career down the road. Most of what he can see of Pidge’s prodding is technology, which is great, but fuck if having the equivalent of a hole in his leg doesn’t freak him out. When the pain has died down enough and Hunk has stopped coming up with more things he needs to fix, he’s finally allowed to have the actual leg attached. Which is fabulous, because Lance has gotten so stir crazy in the last month and a half. He’s so close to freedom, and beaches and oceans and home, that just sitting around makes his ADHD flare up something awful. Not even skincare routines with Allura make the itch beneath his skin go away anymore. 

“The initial attachment is going to hurt like a bitch,” Pidge warns him when she and Hunk come in bearing the holy grail of prosthetic limbs. Lance hasn’t seen it until this moment. Unsurprisingly, they’ve outdone themselves. It looks nothing like Shiro’s Galran arm. It’s sleek, and white, with padded blue traction on the toes and heel, in the crease of his knee. He can barely take his eyes off of it. “So we’ll give it an hour before letting you stand up. Then it’s lots of physical recovery. _Then_ we can all go home. We’re almost done taking out those last few pockets of resistance, anyway.” She grins, all gleaming glasses and white teeth. “You ready?” 

“No?” he tries, because hell yes he wants the leg, but hell no he’s so done with pain at this point. “Can I just … I dunno, take a magical numb pill before you put it on?”

“The leg isn’t going to work if you can’t feel the nerves, Lance.” 

He cringes, digging his fingers into the bedsheets. “Ah.” 

“Cmon, bro. Pidge doesn’t need me to help put it on, so you can squeeze away at my hand.” Hunk hesitates. “Just uh … don’t break anything.”

Lance sucks in a breath and takes up the offer, smiling weakly at Hunk. “No promises.”

“Remember, this is nothing like Shiro’s arm,” Coran tells him. He’s taken a firm hold on Lance’s thigh to keep him from jerking around once Pidge attaches the limb. Lance has always known Alteans tend to have some impressive strength, but he’s never really had to experience it before now. He’s almost as afraid of that as he is of Pidge getting closer to him. “You shouldn’t wear it all the time. It’s built to come on and off with the flip of a latch and a release mechanism. If you take it off regularly, it won’t hurt you to do it. If you leave it on too long, it’ll hurt quite a bit. You won’t be able to get help easily if something goes wrong once you return to Earth.” 

“But you’ll come if I need it, right?” Lance doesn’t really like the idea of something bad happening to it while he’s alone. That’s one downside to returning to Earth, he supposes. None of this technology will be readily available to him anymore. None of his friends will be readily available either. 

“That’s up to Earth’s standards, lad, not ours. It would be easier if you were to come to us. I trust you’ll find a good hiding place for Blue in case you are needed again.” 

Lance doesn’t want to be needed again. He wants to go home and live his life and let Blue go. He loves Blue, so much, but he doesn’t want to pilot her anymore. They can find someone else for that. His time being a hero is over. Lotor was the last straw for him, really. He came so close to losing the chance to see his family again. Nothing is going to keep him from that anymore.

He’d give up Blue in a heartbeat if it meant he could see his mother again.

Blue’s anguish over the bond erupts in his head at the thought, but he doesn’t have time to explore what it means before Pidge is snapping the prosthetic into place and flipping the latch to secure it. It burns, fire flaring through his leg and up his thigh into his stomach. Holy _shit_ the pain was almost as bad as actually getting the damn thing lopped off. He does try to jerk, but Coran holds him still, and he swears he can hear a few of Hunk’s fingers popping from the strength of his own grip. 

“Fuck,” he gasps out when he can finally breathe again. 

It’s … weird. He can feel his leg, but it’s nothing like the phantom pains he’s been plagued with for the last month. It’s more like sensations instead of actual feelings. The whole thing is disconcerting and he stares down in both awe and frustration. He doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to walk like this. Aside from the lingering pain along his thigh and groin, of course. 

“How is it?” Pidge asks, studying the leg critically. “I know it probably still hurts, but can you move it? Just like your real leg, just think and it should work. Your neural pathways should--”

“Science shit, got it.” 

“Just wiggle your toes, dumbass. I need to make sure it works.”

Lance looks down again, and tries just wiggling the toes on both feet at once. His left leg moves as normal, and his right … 

Holy shitting quiznak, it moves. “Oh,” he says, moving his foot now, his ankle, bending the knee … he can move it. Not without pain, but Pidge promised that it would fade so he tries to believe her. But he can … holy crow, alien technology is amazing. 

Lance bites his lip before he can start bawling for the second time this week. He doesn’t need that bullshit. Especially not in front of Pidge; he’d never hear the end of it. “You guys are fucking amazing,” he manages to say with only the slightest wobble to his tone. 

Coran treats him with a smile (“You’ve always been my favorite, after all, so you deserve the best,” the Altean tells him later) and Hunk chuckles, pulling his hand free to pat him on the back. “Just don’t break it,” he teases.

Pidge narrows her eyes. “I swear if you break it I’ll mess up your alien seashell collection.” 

Lance gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

She would. She doesn’t have to say it. 

“Let’s give it an hour or two before getting you on your feet,” she says instead. “Keep moving it every few minutes. If there are any particular areas of pain let one of us know; it could be a pinched nerve. We’ll have to adjust that or walking will be really bad for you.” 

And when it comes time to walk, they’re all there, watching with anticipation. Lance wants to make a joke about watching a baby walk for the first time, but it’s not really a joke if that’s kind of what’s happening. Lance hasn’t walked in over a month. He’s hopped, crawled, and piggybacked the hell out of his teammates, but walking was never an option. His heart is pounding out of his chest. He’s going to embarrass himself. He’s going to tip over face first into someone’s crotch and he’s never going to live it down. 

Shiro’s got his prosthetic arm out for him to squeeze the life of on one side; Hunk must have warned him. Allura’s got his other side, her grip astoundingly firm. Lance has to believe they won’t let him fall if he can’t stay upright on his own. “Is this gonna hurt too?” he grouches with a frown, staring at the glimmering metal attached to him. He still can’t quite believe that’s him now. 

“It’s likely to feel sore for awhile,” Coran tells him, smiling sympathetically. “I can offer pain meds, as long as you use them sparingly. We need to be able to make sure nothing is going wrong with the prosthetic too. As your thigh heals and settles more into the base, that soreness will fade. Ideally, you’ll be able to walk with minimal aching.” 

That’s reassuring, at least. The pain won’t always be a constant. Lance shuts his eyes for a minute, remembers why he’s doing this. Why he asked for the technology in the first place. He wants to walk home to his family. He wants to ensure them that he okay, that he is glad to be home, that he is still wholly there for them. He doesn’t want to be dependent on them. He wants to just _be_ with them. 

“Okay,” Lance finally states, bracing himself with Shiro and Allura’s hands. “Okay, I’m gonna do it, here we go.” 

“Anchor yourself with your left leg,” Coran coaches him. “Apply pressure to your right slowly. Again, if there is any pain aside from an aching in the base, let us know immediately.”

Lance plants his left foot flat on the ground and shoves up with no hesitation. If he thinks twice about what he’s doing he’s going to chicken out again. Amazingly, his right leg bends without him needing to think about it; it works just like a regular leg would. Just with a little more pain. 

He does what Coran says, if only in fear of actually face planting into Keith’s dick. Left foot first, right leg second. It takes him a second to really be sure his foot is on the ground. It’s weird, like he can tell from pressure points that it’s there, and it’s right, but he doesn’t actually feel anything. Lance looks down to make sure, just to double check, before he starts to even out his weight. And it does ache. Once he starts putting weight down, a dull burn arches up his thigh. It’s nothing like the pain of losing the leg, and it’s nothing like after they installed the base. It’s … reassuring, in a way.

He’s standing on both feet for the first time in what feels like forever. He can’t stop the wide grin that creases his face. 

“You’re doing it!” Hunk cheers, matching his grin.

“It works!” Pidge crows, which really, he’s not surprised that’s what she’s concerned about. 

Keith is silent, but judging by the small, private smile on his face as he meets Lance’s eyes, he’s happy too. Lance kind of thinks it’s because he doesn’t want to play nurse to him anymore, but he can pretend he’s happy for him. 

Walking is a feat in and of itself, but Lance is stubborn, and he isn’t going to let a wobbly fake limb stop him from charging forward full throttle. He’s going to walk straight up to his mom’s doorstep without a limp, and he’s going to live just like he always has before. 

Fully, with a side of reckless abandon. 

***

Lance really wishes things could be more simple. 

He wishes he could just stand up, walk effortlessly through the castle to Blue, and fly away home for good. He wishes he could rewind to two months ago, and move just a little faster to stab Lotor. He wishes Keith had a reason to come home. He wishes ....

The point is, Lance wishes for a lot of things that aren’t ever going to happen. 

Shiro is trying to coach him through rehabilitation, but Lance is just frustrated. He’s upset that his leg doesn’t want to move all the time, that he gets mixed signals, that Shiro’s “just move it, Lance, you can do it” doesn’t do a damn thing. His stupid leg doesn’t want to do anything right and Lance thinks he’s fallen on his ass more times in the last two weeks than he ever did as a fucking baby. 

Also, he was never prepared for all the side effects having the limb would cause. His thigh aches constantly. He never thought about how fucking _cold_ he’d be after having literal metal attached to his person. The castle is always chilly, because space is always “chilly”. Lance has spent most nights with Hunk, his back burrowed against his best friend’s warm heat while he tries to keep the freezing limb from touching either of them. He knows he’s supposed to take it off at night--Pidge has yelled at him more than once already--but the metal is a more welcome sight than seeing nothing there at all. 

So he’s cold, he’s in pain, and after Shiro tells him how easy it is if “you just don’t think about it,” he’s had enough. 

“If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it for me?” Lance yells, and ignores their leader’s stunned expression as he hauls himself up off of his ass for the hundredth time that day to limp off and find a hole to hide in. 

He knows he’s being irrational. He knows Shiro is just trying to help. It’s just … arguably the hardest thing he’s ever had to work through before. He can’t go home until he learns how to use his prosthesis correctly, but he’s struggling, and that means he’s not going anywhere. He’s just … so close.

He knows the deep connection he’s formed with Blue is struggling too, but he doesn’t bother to do anything about it. She’ll get over it. She’ll find someone better than him. Maybe someone with all their limbs still attached to their body. Lance just wants to go home and pretend nothing ever happened. 

Shiro finds him holed up in a small observatory, nowhere near the main living areas of the castle. Lance is sure he enlisted Pidge’s help. He’s going to have words with her later; he never wanted to be bothered and the random room should have proved that. 

“What?” He grunts into his flesh and blood knee; he’s all but curled up on the dusty old couch, eyes locked on the ever-changing view of space. They’re not moving right now, so Lance tries to recognize constellations and star systems. He doesn’t think they’re anywhere near Earth, but they’ve been in space for so long now that he thinks he knows approximately where they are.

Shiro doesn’t say anything at first; he just sits down beside him, letting out a discreet cough when a balloon of dust erupts around them. Lance is waiting for the patented dad-speak Shiro’s become so good at. He’s ready to block all of it out, let Shiro rant at him until he goes hoarse and then he can just leave. He’s heard this so many times now. He’s tired. 

“My arm still hurts, sometimes,” Shiro says, and that isn’t at all what Lance was expecting, so he blinks owlishly at him. Apparently, this is as good a sign as any to continue talking. “I don’t think I’ll ever know how the druids attached it, not really, but sometimes it aches down to the bone in my shoulder. And I can’t take it off, not like you can. So I’m always just a little too cold.” 

This is not the time to point out that Lance has been too afraid to take off the prosthetic, so he bites his lip instead. 

Shiro sighs, runs his hand across his face. He looks … old. Tired. The war has been long and strenuous on all of them, but Shiro has always been through the most. His hair is coated with more white than black anymore. He really needs a break. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Your leg is probably always going to hurt. You’re putting weight on a part of your body that’s not fully equipped to support itself anymore. You can get used to it, with lots of practice. It’s why I’m pushing you. I know you want to go home. I don’t want you to go home miserable.” 

Lance is no stranger to pain. It’s not the reason this is frustrating him so much. It just doesn’t work the same as a regular leg. He’s still figuring out the intricacies of the limb, and it locks up on him sometimes. He’ll be doing fine, and then just … 

“It doesn’t work,” he complains, even though he knows that’s not true. It’s not that the limb doesn’t work, it’s that _he_ doesn’t know how to make it work. 

So far, Shiro has answered all of his claims with the equivalent of “You know that’s bullshit, Lance,” and he’s expecting the same this time. Instead, Shiro straightens up and turns, taking hold of Lance’s right ankle and pulling it out straight. “Okay,” he says, with full sincerity, “then let’s work through it.” 

So they do, even though it seems impossible, and Lance feels closer to home than ever before when they part ways that night. 

***

He’s been looking forward to the moment he returns to Earth since … well, since he left Earth, really. But now that the moment is actually here, Lance feels overwhelmed. He wants to go home, to see his family and hug his mother, but going home means leaving his Voltron family. He might not ever see Shiro, or Allura, or Coran, or … or Keith again. Sure, Allura’s given them all communicators for contact, but they’re for emergencies. 

In just a minute, they will make the jump into Earth’s solar system. He, Hunk, and Pidge will all take their lions for one last trip to Earth, and then that’s that.

No more Voltron.

No more war. 

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his worn old jacket, looking over at Keith. Keith is looking right back, his expression tight. Lance’s lip trembles, but he’s not going to cry, damn it. Not again. He wants to ask him. He wants to take Keith with him. But Keith is illuminated by a background of stars and space, and Lance knows he is already home. He cannot take Keith from his home. Keith cannot take Lance from his. 

But still he walks over, and silently rests his head against the red paladin’s shoulder. For these last few minutes, he’s going to embrace what he might have had. He wants his last memory of Keith to be one of solidarity, not sorrow. 

“I wish you’d stay,” Keith whispers, so only Lance can hear him. He is not as resolute in their decisions, it seems. 

So Lance breaks too. “I wish you’d come,” he answers. 

And that’s that, really. An impasse. Neither of them will act on those desires, because there’s a bigger desire. 

Keith will always wait for him, he thinks. Keith is the kind of person who falls for someone wholeheartedly and never moves on, because the same was never done for him. He wants to tell him not to wait. That he’ll be waiting forever. But what if … what if …

Lance drags in a breath, clutching at his shirt through his jacket pockets. He’s made his decision, and he’s not backing down. Not even if it means leaving this behind. He’s wanted to go home for so, so long. He wants to be with his family. More than anything.

The castle jolts forward, the ship hopping through the wormhole effortlessly. Earth appears before them in all its grandeur, blue and green as ever. Lance does start to cry then. He’d somehow begun to think he would never see home again. 

Keith slips an arm around his waist, just briefly, to squeeze him into a hug. Keith will do anything to make Lance happy … and Lance realizes that includes giving him up. He’s never been more grateful in that moment. He wants to kiss him. 

He won’t, because he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to forget about it. 

Pidge breaks it up before he does something stupid like cave and kiss Keith anyway. She throws herself into Lance’s side, wrangling Keith as well into a tight hug. “Take care of your leg, idiot,” she tells him. “Take it off every night, and call me if it acts up. Keith, I swear if you don’t fucking message me every day--”

“I’m not really interested in incurring your wrath,” Keith tells her, hugging back. Hunk joins in as well, and then suddenly they’re in the middle of a hug pile, because this is it. They’re all leaving, they’re all separating. For the past seven years the only friendly faces they’ve seen have been each other’s. Lance does burst into tears then. 

He’s going home but he’s losing his other family, and it hurts almost as bad.

Allura takes her time, hugging each of them soundly and fondly. “The castle will always be open to you, should you want to visit or return.”

“I love you guys,” Lance sniffs, voice wobbly. He thinks even Pidge is crying which is a sight. Pidge is like, all the sass of Tony Stark bottled up in a tiny body. Seeing Pidge cry is like seeing Iron Man cry and that’s … a thing that should never happen.

He can’t stay in the hug for long or he thinks he’s going to cave and never leave. Besides, they don’t have a lot of time. Before too long, Earth’s satellites are going to pick up on an alien spacecraft near the planet, and Earth’s ambassadors have never been the smartest bunch of cookies. They’ll probably try to fire first, talk later. Earth isn’t ready to know about Voltron, or aliens, or the fate they were saved from. They might not ever be ready, and Lance is okay with keeping that secret. 

He very, very briefly meets Keith’s eyes one more time. Sorrow, and resignation, but more importantly, Keith’s happy. He’s happy for Lance to go back home, after so long. They’ve spent night after night in the castle’s observatories, struggling through Lance’s homesickness. He doesn’t have to be homesick anymore. 

But he doesn’t want to think about doing this, either.

So, like usual, he decides to just go out in style.

“Welp,” he loudly states, flipping around towards the zipline to Blue’s hangar, “It’s been real, losers, but I have a hot date with Earth in …” He pauses to dramatically look at his wrist. “Oh shit, I’m five minutes late, gotta dash!”

This is so much easier than the tearful farewell. He can’t stomach it anymore. He can leave them, and go home, and that’s that. That’s what he wants to do. Lance doesn’t look back, then, he just takes off to Blue’s hangar. They’re gone, just like that. He’ll see Pidge and Hunk again, but the others … the others, he’ll probably never meet again.

He’ll never meet Keith again.

He rubs angrily at the fresh tears that spring to his eyes, because he told himself he was okay with this, and he is. 

Mami. Veronica. Rachel. Marco. Luis. Nadia. Sylvio. 

Home.

“One last trip,” he tells Blue, looking up at the ship that has saved his ass so many times. If a sentient robot ship was able to show sadness, he thinks that would be Blue right now. She thinks he’s making a mistake. Shutting them all out. But he can’t, anymore. He’s lost too much in this war, and he needs his family. He reaches out, places a hand on one giant paw. “One last trip, and that’s it. You just gotta get me home.” 

He thinks Blue might not let him in, at first, but she understands more than the others about his homesickness. One last trip, she tells him, and that’s all Lance needs from her. 

He doesn’t look back at the Castle when he leaves.  
He parks Blue on an island near Varadero Beach and swims to shore. He doesn’t cry, like he thought he would, but his heart is beating out of his chest as he drags himself through the dunes and up to the houses facing the ocean. The spare key is still hiding behind that one loose brick, like they knew he would need it one day. He unlocks the door and stands in the hall, and his mother shrieks like she’s seen a ghost, just like he’s imagined. She screams and sobs and throws herself into his arms. He does cry then, as he clings to her thin shoulders with more force than he thought he had. They both look different--he’s been gone seven years--but the love and wonder and sheer relief is still there all the same.  
Within an hour the house is vibrant and full just as he remembered it. He cries some more, presses himself in between his brother and sister in the overflowing living room. He tells them grandiose stories about his adventures. The fun parts. He is a hero, and the world will never know, but his family will sing his praises for generations to come.  
But … he is different.


End file.
